


Transcension

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Series: Come On And Make Me [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Captain America: Civil War, Gen, M/M, Not Steve Friendly, Not Wanda Friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-20 00:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14884185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: Tony has moved everyone but himself to the Compound. Then Lagos happens.





	1. Phil

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember what all happens in this fic, so any and all trigger warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.

Phil Coulson has seen a lot. A lot of tempers. A lot of revenge. A lot of blood and gore and violence galore. But he’s not sure he can handle this. Oh, the assignment is easy enough. Tony Stark is about to get suckerpunched by raging hormones due to pack seperation, make sure he’s alright, yeah?

Even the procedure was not bad. Mostly Tony just didn’t want to be left alone for too long (at all) and he proved to be forgetful in the self-care department. Part of that forgetfulness, Phil knows, is due to the fact that it is just plain difficult when a Prime- any Prime, dealing with any pack- is separated from his/her pack. He or she, no matter how good the decision is, will suffer for it.

But this… this strange attitude taken on by Wanda, and encouraged by Steve, he’s not sure he can handle this. He’s watching, all neutral and nice Agent Coulson, as Hill asks Wanda for the umpteenth time what exactly she did to Tony when he tried to show her information that he thought would help her get a better picture of what actually went on with her parents’ deaths.

Wanda is stubborn, but Hill is trained, and eventually it comes out that she had forced Tony to relive the event that had led him to eight years of scent blockers. She’s describing this alpha, now. It was one Tony trusted deeply. Wanda’s okay with revealing as much information as possible about this moment of weakness in the life of Anthony Stark now that she’s given up the ghost.

She’s saying something about how he had a receding hairline and how Obadiah liked to cover it up with caps before he went bald. Phil’s only half listening, mind taking him back to a few weeks ago.

 

…

 

_ Tony’s got a hard time eating, and it’s showing. As long as he’s touching someone, though, he’s mainly alright. Today is one of those days that he’s less alright. Today is not a food day. It’s a tea day. Phil tries not to think about how long a Prime would have to go without touch for this level of clinginess. Tony’s got a handful of Phil’s shirt while the agent makes coffee. He takes his hand when he’s led to the couch. _

_ When they’re settled in and are watching TV (The Original Annie. It is Tony’s all-time favorite), Tony seems a bit better. He’s all clean and nice smelling in his soft nike pants and a-shirt. Right now, he’s not shy about the arc reactor scar because Phil is a part of its history. That, and the alpha had to help him bathe two nights ago. _

_ “You wanna know a secret?” Tony asks, sound so deep in his throat Phil thinks it’s a hum, at first. _

_ “Sure.” _

_ “I don’t even like alphas. Or betas, for that matter. Just omegas. Knew it from the time I was fifteen. Can’t find an omega like that, though, cause every omega fucks another one at least once in their life. Out of necessity. Need for safety. But everyone goes and catches themselves an alpha or beta eventually.” _

_ “Doctor Banner is bonded with Betty Ross.” Another omega, according to the files. _

_ “Doctor Banner is _ fucking gone _ ,” Tony says, and it’s hissed out with so much vitriol that for a moment Phil thinks he’s going to have to subdue him, like he did three days ago following an accidental-on-purpose explosion. In the next moment, he deflates. “Besides. I knew I couldn’t keep him. It was nice to pretend, though. I think that’s the closest I’ll ever get to a bond.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Yeah. It was just… the others… everyone’s got other stuff to do, myself included, but it was nice because I knew that after every argument I had with Steve, Bruce would be up for a fucking or cuddling or phone call or text. And later, if he couldn’t, Clint usually could. It was… it was nice. But I should have known Clint was gonna get settled for good the moment he got established as an omega, sans scent blockers.” Tony’s head pushes a little farther down Coulson’s arm. _

_ “I could call him.” _

_ “He’s got three kids and he’s bonded to a beta. Don’t call him. Don’t pull him out of his happy world just so he can leave mine again. I think I’d die for good.” Phil doesn’t call Clint, but he wants to.  _

_ He also wants to find Banner and ask him what the fuck he thought was going to happen when he left Tony all alone. In the end, though, he just makes sure Tony’s all tucked in before he calls one of the omega nurses to keep watch over him while he sleeps, and call him when it was time for nightmare duty. _

 

…

 

After a while, Tony had snapped out of it. When Phil had arrived, the omega was already a shivering, incoherent mess. One who was not capable of controlling his need for contact. After a month or so, he had abruptly snapped out of it. He had been so, so mad when he realized who he’d been in contact with. 

Phil wonders if the others in the room, aside from Vision, understand how far you have to break a Prime before he seeks distance as a solution to toxicity. He doesn’t think they do. Or maybe he’s wrong, and they just don’t care. 

Either way, he wants to slap Wanda, and ask her what she was doing, living off Stark’s dime but hating his guts. He wants to choke Captain America, and ask him if he knows what his refusal to accept Tony as he is has done to the omega. It stings all the more because it’s hard to lose a hero. He’s disappointed, mostly, in Natasha and in Clint and, to some degree, in Bruce, though everyone knew Bruce was going to run eventually.

He knows it’s not good that he’s this protective, but who else is going to be? Isn’t that a sad thought, though? Who cares about Tony Stark? A bunch of people who once tried to use the fact that he was legitimately dying against him. He tunes back in and watches Wanda Maximoff’s face. He’s careful to categorize her actions and reactions, to take note of everything she does and how she does it.

He has a feeling he’s going to need to use it eventually.


	2. Lagos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve argue about Wanda in Accords Convo No.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)
> 
> Special Announcement 6.15.2018  
> The Etsy will be open next Friday! Come by to see what I’ve got. I’ll post the link when it’s accessible.

Lagos is a shit show, and since Hill and Coulson only run the compound, not the Avengers themselves, they can’t stop them from performing. Tony sees it on the news, and sits down in defeat. Two seconds later, he gets on the phone. 

“Look, Phil, I don’t care how he does it, get him to keep her in the damn compound so she doesn’t kill anyone else.”

“Tony-”

“Don’t, Phil. I… look, there’s a hundred and seventeen countries who are either calling for justice, responsibility, or both. They’re calling it the Sokovia Accords, and I’ve got a draft. The last thing I’m going to do is get their signatures on that document, and then that’s all.”

“That’s all, how?”

“I mean I’m not fucking Avenging anymore. All I ever was was a consultant, and I’m going to focus on what really matters- the future of superheroes and mutants and everyone else whose life rides on needing structure and responsibility. So just keep her indoors, where she can’t be riled up or cause a scene.” He hangs up on Phil before he can say anything else and straightens his tie. 

Time to work some magic.

 

…

 

“Look, Steve, people are angry. Extremely so. What happened in Lagos was unacceptable-” Tony starts.

“She didn’t mean to! She was out of her depth and-”

“-and I told you beforehand that she was not ready, and you chose to put her on the team and out in the field anyways. That’s not something you can deny.” Iron Man finishes. Steve doesn’t look like he wants to argue, but the facts of the matter are unavoidable. 

“It wouldn’t have gone down like that if you had been there,” he snaps at Tony. 

“Alright let’s get one thing straight right the fuck now- I am not obligated to work with people in life or death situations who I do not feel will come through. Not only am I not obligated, you, as the leader of the Avengers speaking to a consultant, should have stepped up and supported that decision. 

“That’s not what you did. Instead, you chose to ignore my warnings about Wanda and put her on the team as a full-fledged member and used her in the field as such. That is your fault. All of it. You aren’t blaming me for your bad call, and you aren’t dismissing her actions in Lagos like you dismiss everything else. They won’t let you.” Tony sets down a thick packet of papers and a pair of pens in a nice case.

“What is this?” Steve says, lifting up the first page.

“The Sokovia Accords. A hundred and twenty three countries are pissed with you, Steve. They don’t like the slapdash way the Avengers are run because it creates situations like this. I can run around all day every day doing relief in all the places you leave behind, damaged and vulnerable, and it will be no problem. I have a company meant to handle just that.” Stark shifts, leaning just a little bit closer.

“But people are tired of needing to see relief workers. They’re tired of being scared that one day, they're going to wake up and their car- their only means of transportation- will be crushed, or their home is gone. Or their job is rubble. When we force people to live in the reality that their lives might be destroyed without so much as a by your leave, and act like SI Relief is just going to fix it, we aren’t heroes. We’re just a bunch of toddlers breaking shit with other toddlers. They want assurance that they’re seeing the back of incidents like Lagos.” 

“Our word has always been enough,” Steve says, still trying to comprehend the abrupt change in public view.

“For those in no danger. But when people get their entire lives tossed away to some knot headed fight, their views change, and we owe it to those people to be the heroes we tout ourselves as. Read it. This is a number for a legal rep in case you get stuck in the legalease,” Tony says as he slides a business card across the table.

“And when I do?”

“You sign it. You get the rest of the Avengers to sign it. When the world sees that yes, the Avengers are prepared to take responsibility, we can start the amendment process.”

“Why would this document need to be amended?”

“It’s not finished, and Ross is on the committee, which means that there’s something strange in here. You sign and I make a stink, then it’s gonna look like i’m catching an issue over a legitimate reason. You don’t sign, and it makes me look like some kid making demands.” Steve’s blue eyes bore into Tony’s.

“You’re working with Ross?”

“For now. Hand on the wheel and what not. I also used to work with Justin Hammer before he got kicked off the committee we were both on following the mysterious emergence of proof that he was, in fact, stealing his ideas from underpaid, underfunded, unacknowledged college students. It’s an old method.”

“He’s going to push for some sort of punishment for Wanda.”

“Of course he’ll push. He pushed for Bruce’s arrest the entire time he was in New York, and it didn’t happen. I know these things, Steve. He won’t be able to arrest Wanda if you remove her Avengers status and make it plain you are seeking help before he can start hollering about unstable people.” Steve just looks at him.

“This is about her being an Avenger,” the Captain says slowly, like he’s having a revelation. Or maybe he’s just being stupified right before Tony’s eyes.

“No, it’s not. You can take away the visa of a weapon of mass destruction, but we have an angle if we make it about Wanda’s mental state and how Hydra fucked her up and how she’s admitted to having a problem and she just wants to be a stable girl who protects the little guy and she’s taking steps to do that, we have a dog in the fight. It’s a whole different story if they see us, or, rather, you, since I’ve already done this part, trying to make a change.”

“Tony, there’s nothing wrong with her.”

“There is something wrong with her, and it starts with willingly becoming a lab rat to Hydra and ends somewhere off in the future, probably about the time some grudge-holder gets fucking lucky. But this isn’t about what’s wrong with her. It’s about setting an example for all superheroes- a standard that everyone should live up to. This “oopsie-daisy-time-to-go-home” way of operating is not a standard.” Steve is shaking his head before he finishes.

“Tony, you don’t really expect me to believe that?” Now Tony’s just angry, his scent curling and sparking, the spices Steve can always smell giving him the impression of sriracha or a ghost pepper.

“It’s true, and it’s happening, whether you believe it or not. I have, and am offering, a way to twist this so that it happens with minimal consequences to your precious Scarlet Witch. You don’t like signing the Accords? Retire. But don’t make decisions for everyone else while you’re at it,” Tony says, low and angry. Steve glances at the document again, and Tony knows he hasn’t read a word.

“Take it home. Be careful. They’re rioting outside the compound.” Steve stiffens.

“Where’s Wanda?”

“The Compound, unfortunately. Vision’s keeping her company.” 

“What happens now, then? She just sits there rotting?”

“There’s a pool, a gym, a meditation room, a game room, a library, unlimited access to tech and food, along with an android who happens to be very curious about everything, plus an AI that runs the house and, if Wanda so chooses, is capable of helping her work on that schooling that she didn’t get while being a Hydra experiment. And that’s just the communal stuff. I gave her an allowance, too. If she’s rotting, it’s because she chooses to rot.”

“You’re keeping her in the tower and acting like you’re not because it’s got nice stuff.”

“I had Vision go with her to help keep her in the tower because she just killed a bunch of people and needs to lay low while I figure out what I can and cannot do. Hint hint: it’s a lot more if she signs the Accords. If all goes well, it’ll just be a quiet break from superheroing.”

“Who gave you permission to keep her from going on missions?” Steve says. His face is this close to a scowl. Tony’s doing everything wrong.

“Ah, no one. Consultant. Don’t actually have any power, as you so kindly reminded me more than once. And I’m not keeping her from going on missions, I’m just pointing out that it would be a really bad idea to take an overstressed, undercontrolled, unstable omega out with you.”

“You mean like you?” And, wow, that’s a jab.

“I am forty three fucking years old. I have excellent control, not moving into the compound was a step towards more stability than I already had, and I’ve been overstressed for years. This is just the first time you’ve mentioned it.”

“Tony, you can’t just keep her locked away.” Steve elects to ignore the stability thing. He does not want to touch the topic of Wanda’s lack of control.

“What are you, blind? She’s not locked away. She can actually leave anytime she wants. Unlike in an actual prison. And I need you to take a deep breath and keep in mind that I am actually attempting to help the both of you.”

“Why?” Tony gives a nonchalant shrug.

“Greater good. Some sixteen year old who fucks around and discovers he can manipulate energy needs to be able to come into something structured. Something worth staying in. Not a dog-eat-dog shitstorm that you’re really trying to get this to shape up to be.” These words are starting to taste familiar. Like vomit. 

“Tony, I am not the one whose contributing to the “shitstorm” as you put it. I’m just trying to be fair to Wanda. She said she didn’t mean to make you panic, and she’s not one to lie. You talk about how you don’t trust Wanda but then run behind our backs to sign some document to give our freedom up like that’s totally ok.” Tony looks at him like he’s grown two heads.

“First of all: I am not going behind your back. I’m a consultant and liason to the Avengers. It’s my official job to paperwork and legality or talk to the people who do all of that so you don’t have to. That is my primary function- act as a go-between. Iron Man was always secondary, officially speaking. Second of all, I’m not signing away your freedom, I’m agreeing to accept responsibility for the damage caused by Iron Man. Not Captain America. Not Scarlet Witch. Iron Man. My signature applies to me. Not you. The only reason I am the one to bring this to you at all is because I am, again, a go between. Third of all: remember when the military was in my ass to give up the Iron Man suits and you backed them up?”

“Yeah.” Tony just looks at Steve, and waits for the similarities to sink in. 

“This is nothing like that. Wanda doesn’t have any power.”

“And you thought I would? Oh, hey, big organization that’s part of the government and whose express purpose is to fight wars, here’s literally the only reason you bother with me in the first place. Do what you want. Captain America Can Do No Wrong said it’s cool.”

“Tony, you’re an inventor. You would have made other stuff. All Wanda’s got is herself.”

“Which in no way addresses the fact that you thought it was a good idea to try and push me into giving the military the Iron Man suits, but do not find it okay for Wanda to take responsibility for both her actions and her mental health, both of which any healthy adult has by the reigns.” Tony stares hard, waiting for it to click that as long as he kept “protecting” Wanda, he was sanctioning everything she did up to the current bounds, which include murder and mind-fuckery, and she would never learn to “protect” herself.

“There is nothing wrong with Wanda. And there is something wrong with bringing me here just to get me to sign off on being restricted by another organization who does not have the people’s best interest at heart.” God, Tony is surrounded by idiots.

“Which people? Cause they’re doing more for those in Lagos than you are.” Steve stands, done with the conversation.

“Take the damn papers, Steve. And fucking read it.”


	3. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Civil War.

For the first time in a while, Tony is excited. Not only is Steve probably (hopefully. Maybe. The captain is smart, but he’s just too stubborn for it to shine through, sometimes) going to sign the Accords, if he signs, Wanda will sign, and the dude with the wings will sign too. If Steve signs, Natasha will probably be behind it, and that’ll be all he needs from them. Sign and follow through. 

But! That’s not even the best part. Wakanda is going to be here. They have been involved in literally no wars or trading or anything that have to do with other people. The last example of a time when Wakanda was in active combat was back in the The British Empire Is The Greatest, Literally type days, and they won. Only nation in their area to do so, too. So! 

They’re one example of isolationism working, and rumor has it that they are much more advanced than they’re letting on. Tony really wants to meet a Wakandan scientist, wonders if maybe he can, like, learn the Wakandan language to make them more welcome. He wants to science with the Wakandans. If he pulls this off he might just be able to. 

The Wakandan king, an alpha, is rumored to be in his late seventies, but he looks much younger to Tony. His skin is as black as an onyx and as smooth as a well-shined ring. Tony’s trying not to grin because, deadass, their facial hair is the same. Somewhere in the audience is his son, just as handsome, but some years younger. 

He is supposed to be an alpha, but Tony’s betting omega. Wakanda is remarkably technologically savvy, and will likely be a major player in the years to come. Tony is betting that they have some version of the pill that T’challa is on. Though no rumors of that nature have gone around yet, Tony’s going to be anyways. It wouldn’t be the first time society at large had gotten something wrong. Hell, even SHIELD mistakenly had Doctor Banner down as an alpha, due to the hulk and the sheer strength in his scent. So did General Ross, though that could have been on purpose, given his agenda. 

So! He’s going to meet them both, and impress them with SI’s wildly successful forays into green energy, medical technology, and world-wide relief, and maybe he’ll get to science with the best of them.

Tony can tell the moment Steve enters the room. It helps him with keeping a lid on his excitement, but he didn’t need help in the first place. The captain’s eyes are on him (burning into the back of his head, in fact) as he takes a seat designated for him, the Black Widow at his side. Tony does not turn around. He and Steve fought a week ago, and Steve evidently did call the legal rep one time, but other than that, there’s been no word on how things have fallen with him. Tony pulls his phone out to reread the messages.

 

9:24: Did you finish reading? -TS

 

9:24: Not quite. -SR

 

9:24: Elaborate? -TS

 

9:25: I skimmed through it. I don’t like it. -SR

 

9:25: You can’t say you don’t like it if you didn’t read all of it. Then you’re just forming an opinion based on facts taken out of context. -TS

 

9:26: I am aware. -SR

 

9:27: the legal rep could have set up an appointment with you all week. -TS

 

9:27: Not a kid, Tony. I’m aware of what I could or could not have done. -SR

 

Tony deigns not to answer that. He’ll have to get his people to put foot to ass and make him go over it all. It’s stupid. Skimmed? The fuck? We’re talking about world wide standards for superhero activity and he just skimmed it? What- oooh.

Tony is abruptly distracted as he realizes who it is that walk with both King T’Chaka and Prince T’Challa. The Dora Milaje: elite in every sense of the word. He thinks that if Pepper were Wakandan, that would be her function. He wants to just sit near them and observe the way he wants to science with their nerds. 

He looks back at his phone.

 

9:28: Pep. Pepper. Peppeeeeeer. Pepperpot. Pepperoni.  -TS

 

9:29: What? -PP

 

9:29: The Dora Milaje are here. I’m about to die of admiration. -TS

 

9:30: Who? -PP

 

9:30: The bodyguards of the Wakandan King and the black panther. They remind me of you. -TS

 

9:32: why? I don’t make you die of admiration. -PP

 

9:32: You kill me daily, and you’re my favorite lady. -TS

 

9:33: Why have I never heard this before? -PP

 

9:33: I didn’t want to encourage my continual deaths. Hey where are we on the Scarlet Witch situation? -TS

 

9:34: Without her signature, we’re looking at forced retirement and at least a decade’s worth of court dates to keep anyone from taking her powers away and a lifetime’s worth of protection to make sure no one just takes that into their own hands. With her signature, we’re looking at a sabbatical of the educational variety. -PP

 

9:34: If Steve will just get her to sign the fucking papers, which she’ll do if he does, we’re in the clear. -TS

 

9:34: THEY will be in the clear. You are already in the clear. -PP

 

9:35: Don’t remind me. -TS

 

9:35: I am going to continue to remind you of this because too often you get lost in the sauce and act as though you’re going down with them, and they take too much from you like that. -PP

 

9:37: With all due respect, Pepper, who I throw my lot in with is not your call to make. -TS

 

Tony knows that’s mean; knows he shouldn’t attack Pepper when she’s just trying to help, but he’s damn tired of hearing about how he just needs to stop with the Avengers. His head hurts with how many times she’s said this coup de grace of his isn’t even necessary, that he could just exit stage left, right now, and no one could stop him or blame him. 

But he won’t leave people drowning in legal soup, even if they are actively taking off the damn floaties. Besides that, it’s true. He and Pepper broke up. They aren’t together. At the end of the day, their interests do not converge enough to keep them afloat, so she can’t act like they’re  a year and a half in the past an everything is just starting to fall apart.

 

9:45: I know, but I am not going to not mention it so you can avoid what’s uncomfortable. -PP

Tony doesn’t know if he’s more relieved or annoyed. She hasn’t taken the I’m-getting-off-the-phone-before-I-choke-a-bitch kind of offense, even though she probably did take some sort of offence that he would hear about later. He takes another sip of his coffee and thumbs through their options for Wanda’s schooling.

Legitimately, they’re fucked here, too. Their options are online school (which sucks, because the Scarlet Witch needs some normal type friends who will inadvertently show her that she’s wrong without ever saying anything or even trying) or tutors, which are all coming from other schools or criminal organizations. Hell.

Tony needs more coffee. Everything starts in fifteen minutes.

 

…

 

There’s a certain moment that an omega like Tony can pass- a Prime, unannounced to the general populace, barely even known by those close to him- where they just… stop feeling. It’s a dangerous thing to do, because an Omega Prime is only an Omega Prime because their ability to sense and, by extension, influence changes in pheromones and emotion. That emotion is often something they feel themselves, and Primes will spend their life honing their abilities. To cut it off is like closing their eyes.

Oh,Tony still smells it all- poppyseed off the beta closest to him, leather oil off the alpha in the next row- but it just doesn’t register like it did two minutes ago. Instead, all that’s registering is a risk-reward dichotomy, math and time flowing like a living thing through his brain, once Tony passes that point.

That point was an explosion. 

It knocks down the presenter- T’Chaka, Tony will remember distantly- and after that, Tony doesn’t feel anything anymore. Instead he’s briefly aware of snapshots of his movements. The iron man suit is called. He’s wrist deep in someone’s pierced abdomen, blood staining his suit and hands and shiny Gucci watch. He’s working with Steve and Natasha, he thinks, to move injured people out of the way, and at one point, he finds himself standing over the body of T’Chaka, looking deep into a dead alphas wide, blank eyes.

He doesn’t snap out of it for a long time- too long, really. Long enough for Barnes to be captured, for him to escape. For him to see a bridge collapse on a handful of innocents. For him to see the black panther arrested right alongside Captain America. He almost comes up, once, when he’s trying to get Steve to sign. To give him what he needs to make it go away. This is his pack, after all. He should be doing everything he can… for his pack. But then he’s down again when Steve walks away.

He gets close to coming up again when they’re in an airport, and he’s distantly wondering what Clint is doing there, and Natasha is stabbing him in the back (why did he think she could be trusted?) and he drags a FUCKING CHILD into armed and dangerous combat and that’s a no-go, Tony. That’s what he’d been hoping to avoid with the Accords: means that are entirely too pricey to justify the end.

That’s all he really picks up. He’ll remember the rest, later, in crystal clarity. 

For now, though, he surfaces outside a hospital room, staring in at his long-time best friend, who he just knows won’t walk again. Who he took into combat. Who he was responsible for. Whom he placed in the path of danger and nearly got killed. He doesn’t look at Vision, because he already knows that the Android is trying to hold it together.

“I thought you didn’t get distracted,” he hears himself say.

“So did I.”

 

…

 

The raft is interesting, and he gathers all the data he can about it when he goes to talk to someone, anyone. He winds up seeing Sam. Looking at him through the bars of his cage, Tony wonders why Captain America chose to drag a good man down with him. Why he chose to sacrifice everyone who followed him down for the sake of one man. He can smell the misery from their cages, the strange nothingness from Wanda’s. 

There’s a explosion of expletives. Tony tries not to think about too much when Clint is yelling out shit that he doesn’t even mean. All Tony smells from him is confusion, and hurt, and suspicion. Betrayal, really. If he had to simplify. He chooses not to address that just yet. Barton made his bed. He could lie in it. It hurts that he says anything at all, though.

On the way to Siberia, Tony’s thoughts are stuck in a loop of the last few days. Stuck seeing the Black Panther. Stuck seeing his dead father. Stuck seeing Steve walk away- again!- from what he rightfully should have been jumping on. Stuck seeing Wanda, finally unable to hurt him, but feeling no relief from it. 

He sees it all, and it hurts him. He knows, intellectually, that this is Pack Splitting, and that Primes are especially vulnerable to their effects, but he won’t think about that now. He has one last time- one last chance- to keep it all together. 

All he has to do is get them to surrender.

“Help my wife.” He can feel himself going under and coming up at the same time. He can feel his heart growing cold and his head heating up.

“Please- help my wife.” He knows he shouldn’t; knows there’s something more at stake here.

“Howard!” He tells himself to look away as his insides get all cold and the air in the bunker isn’t so bad anymore by comparison.

“HOWARD!” The risk-reward ratio is used by investors to compare the expected return of an investment to the risk undertaken to get it. 

For example: If a man is funding your search for your missing favorite buddy, you don’t want to tell him that that guy also killed his parents. Risk: him finding out one day. Reward: you finding your friend.

For example: If there are two super soldiers in a room versus you, both of which are desperate and alone, right now, and you, who can’t feel straight or even control what they want just now, it’s not a good idea to pick a fight. Risk: literal death. Reward: Catharsis.

Of course, all things involving risk have the chance to fall through.

Tony is completely out of it for the entire fight. Doesn’t recognize the betrayal for what it is even as he wheezes out how Steve doesn’t deserve that shield. Doesn’t get it- doesn’t want to get it- even as he feels the force of the shield caving in bits of the suit that bite into his chest. He thinks about Afghanistan, where his best choice was a bad investment.

And that’s all this is, really. Just a bad investment.It’ll be okay. He’ll take some time to recover, get some more money he can invest with, and do it again. He’ll… something.

He always does something. Maybe, though… maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s just time to rest or something, wait for a team. Try not to think about how he can feel every second passing.

 

…

 

“Mr. Stark?” Lights, men calling to each other. The thump and scrape of boots on the concrete.

“Nah. That was always my dad,” Tony says. Slurs. Thinks. Whatever. 

“My name is Adyan, and I’m with the Siberian Government,” the man says in a thick accent, “We’ve come to remove you to safety. Your comrade, the Vision, is en route. Can you hear me, Mr. Stark?”

“Sort of. Not really. Hmm...suit. Suit’s damaged; the main power’s been cut off, as you can see. It’s designed to keep me insulated and warm enough to not die in case of an outage. Dunno how successful it was at this. Let’s go. I want hot chocolate.” there’s a chuckle.

“We shall get you hot chocolate, Mr. Stark.”

It takes them two hours and forty five minutes to get him out of the suit. Most of that time is taken up by the removal of the chest plate and the simultaneous treatment of the injuries underneath. He winds up having a more shallow, temporary version of the arc reactor, which is brought in by Vision. As it turns out, the android was in contact with the hospital, waiting to see if he’d need to bring anything.

It takes two hours and forty five minutes to remove the armor, and another twelve after that to finish the surgery. He dies on the table twice.

With all the bits and pieces of the armor shoved into his chest, his false sternum is fucked. His ribs are sort of fucked. His lungs are mostly fucked. He’s got little plastic pieces in body to help him breathe, an arc reactor to convince his heart it wants to beat, a billion medications for pain and sleep and inflammation. 

They refuse to allow him to go anywhere. The armor is taken back to the states, along with the shield, and left in his workshop. Vision returns with one of his travel computers, so while he’s recovering, he’s also working, explaining to this or that person what happened. For once, he doesn’t try to mitigate. He just tells it like he knows it to be.

He’s too tired to fight for a pack that doesn’t want him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)
> 
> Special Announcement 6.22.2018
> 
> Due to technical difficulties, the Etsy I’m working on will be up and running next Friday.


	4. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, as always, is good at denials.

It’s been seven months. Tony is sitting there in the PT room of the compound, which was actually something like a more private common room which had been set up with PT equipment, watching Vision watch Rhodey watch him. There’s a package in his room. In it is a letter about how Steve just did what he thought was right. He says something about faith in people, but Tony wants to know in what world is faith in just one person the same thing. 

They want to ask if he’s alright, but Tony won’t let them. Won’t let them assume his presence in Siberia was anyone’s but his fault. 

Next week, he’s being evaluated.

In the seven months since he’s been at work in person, done any kind of heavy lifting, or been a common sight to the public, he’s had extensive, multi step surgeries to his chest. After Siberia, he sat down and had a series of meetings with Doctor Helen Cho, who agreed to go to work on him in order to extend his lifespan. 

Essentially, they repaired his lungs by dropping him into a coma, reopening all his wounds one at a time, and letting the Cradle stitch them back together. The only thing not small enough to do this with is his heart, which is why the arc reactor stays. The other reason: the cradle won’t do everything. He’s been injected with nanites. 

It worked, and he had another surgery to replace the casing and arc reactor with a permanent version, during which his heart stopped (again).

Then he had another surgery to repair his ribs, which is to say they’re actually going to cut out a large portion of those ribs and replace them with a metal alloy version. It’s close to what the arc reactor and arc reactor casing is made of. It will be stronger than regular ribs and more flexible besides. Oddly enough, ironically enough, the false ribs will interact with the rest of his body in the way Bucky’s arm does.

So now, seven months, three days, and thirteen hours after he was found in Siberia, he’s breathing a little easier, the arc reactor is a strong blue triangle-esque shape with a plate of glass over the top that’s laced with vibranium, and he’s got an evaluation in a week. Maybe they’ll let him return to work. Maybe they won’t. 

He’s fine, though. Thinks he’s fine, anyways. He’s just a little numb. Like he never shook the chill out of his bones from Siberia, and there’s a letter in his room that just makes it worse. He hasn’t shown Rhodey, because Rhodey will be angry, and Rhodey needs to focus on walking. Tony’s got him the first version of his leg braces. He’s collecting data on them right now. When he comes out with the second version, they’ll be better.

Just like the Iron Man suits, every new pair will be the better child of the old. 

It’s three days until his evaluation and six months ago another letter arrived in the mail. Evidently, Clint was not told the whole story, but rather a nicer story about how Tony had lost his fucking mind. It’s a nice letter. At least he knows Clint didn’t do it on purpose. At least he knows Clint is really sorry. The archer turned himself in a week after that letter came. It doesn’t even hurt all that much. Really, he’s just a little numb.

 

…

 

He has a clean bill of health, and with that, he gets back in the saddle. Vision, his baby Avenger, his favorite android ever, is dying under the weight of guilt, and Tony thinks it might be better if he left him and Rhodey to bond for a while; let Rhodey get out whatever the Vis needs to hear while they won’t be interrupted. So he goes back to the tower, and immediately orders the floors of the Avengers, with the exception of two, to be stripped, scrubbed, cleaned out, and left empty. Tony doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them, but he has a feeling it would be something.

It feels good to work again. 

He takes a car to Hell’s kitchen to talk to a pair of lawyers, one of which is blind. Ostensibly, he brings them on to the new Avengers legal team. In the eyes of the world, Daredevil puts his signature on the Sokovia Accords and Matt Murdoch sits in with Tony Stark on meetings involving amendments.

He goes low-key for his second person- takes the subway and makes sure he doesn’t get on without a deep hoodie. The address is 177A Bleecker St. The building is the proud owner of a historical plaque. Like all the other proud owners of historical plaques, it does absolutely nothing to peak anyone’s interest. Tony walks right in.

He pauses in the foyer, waiting, expecting, knowing that he may have made a grave error in judgement and hoping it isn’t so. A fat man in a suit appears at the top of the seldom-used staircase.

“Hello?” he asks, confusion, but not surprise, written all over his face. In fact, he’s rather bland. 

“Good morning. My name is Tony Stark, and I heard Doctor Stephen Strange is in residence.” The man, asian by the looks of it, doesn’t even blink. 

“That depends on why you’re asking.”

“I’m sure you’ve kept up with the news.”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I want to talk about.”

“Well, then, I suppose we should take a seat, Mr. Stark. It’s good to see you in good health,” say a newer, deeper voice. Tony turns to look further up the staircase where it branches off to the left side.

“Doctor Strange?”

“Doctor Stark.” Stephen makes his way down to Tony and offers his hand. He doesn’t acknowledge the pained expression on Tony’s face, and Tony doesn’t note the absolute mess the scars have left the skin on his hands. Stephen just drops his hand, exchanges a little half-bow with Tony, and turns to lead him up the stairs.

Eventually, Doctor Strange’s signature goes on the Sokovia Accords.

 

…

 

Spiderling tells his aunt who he is at night, and Tony Stark gets the shit smacked out of him for the airport. At the end of the day, though, Peter’s signature goes on the Sokovia Accords, and he calls the legal rep about once every three or four days to ask about this or that phrase. He throws ideas about how to make the Accords better. More inclusive. 

With them in the home stretch of the fastest amendment process to date, Tony turns his attention to other things. Specifically, he focuses on the Compound and outfitting it for all current Avengers. He stays in the Tower though. He doesn’t want to get all that involved with them. Not the way he did before. Not the way it ended so very badly before.

The Avengers need a charter. They need more than the legal team; they need therapists. They need social workers who can help keep their underaged supers on track. They need a support network that won’t let the power rest with one person anymore. They need a chain of command. He throws himself into that.

Carol Danver’s signature goes onto the Sokovia Accords, along with the rest of the Defenders, and she and Rhodey hit it off. It makes Tony happy to watch his friend have someone with a similar background to talk to again.

This is one of those moments where the numbness seems to almost be gone. Tony tells himself that it’s just from Siberia, this inability to get his heart to feel. He tells himself that it’s got more to do with the metal in his chest than it does with anything else. He already went through pack splitting. He already did the thing where he is so far inside his own head that he doesn’t realize that Phil Fucking Coulson is back from the dead.

He’s fine. That’s not what this is. He can do this, because he is a Prime, and even if no one but Rhodey and Pepper know it because he wears this cologne that hides the scent, he’s supposed to be stronger than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I’m really, really late. Teenagers, right? In any case, it’s gotten to the end of a hard month, and I had a lot on my plate, and something had to give. In related, better news, Friday is still the update day, and this Friday will have all updates coming out on time. 
> 
> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> Announcement 7.3.2018:
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	5. Late Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is having a harder time than anyone thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING- READ THE END NOTES FOR DETAILS.

Nevertheless, nights at the tower are lonely. His arc reactor and scars have made him too shy and paranoid too go out and pick up a one night stand, and his heat has been delayed by like six months so he knows it’s going to hurt like a bitch when he finally does have it.

He spends most evenings counting the reasons why he shouldn’t drink anymore, which start with death and end with “Because Steve would look down on you”.

He’s just spiteful enough that it’s easy to get himself from “don’t do it” to “hey look at this new idea why don’t you go workshop it out?” because Steve always hated it when it was obvious that Tony hadn’t slept in way too long. He doesn’t really sleep like he should. But that’s okay because it means that he dreams less when he falls unconscious in his chair. 

Some nights he goes up on the roof of the tower and contemplates taking Holiday, the suit he uses when he just wants to fly, out for a spin. He’s afraid that he’ll make a mistake though, and he’ll wind up with metal in his chest again. So he doesn’t take Holiday out, but rather just stands on the launch pad and stares up at the sky.

Sometimes, he’ll just stand out here for a little while and then go back in. But this is his fifth night in a row, and he’s going longer and longer. He wonders if Steve and the others have come to suspect the generosity of the Wakandan King. 

Not even a week after that whole deal went down, T’Challa evidently strolled into a meeting with the Accords Counsel and, in addition to a heartfelt apology, revealed that the rogue Avengers, with the exception of Clint Barton, had mistaken his invitation to Bucky Barnes as an invitation to the rest of them, and were now taking up space in a guarded, heavily monitored wing of the palace. He then asked for the location of Iron Man, and when they told him he was recovering from extensive surgery, that handsome face had gone all pale under his skin tone. Tony wonders what Steve told him.

Ever since then, Tony has been getting packages of coffee or small cookies “made to promote healing”.

Tony knows he should drink more of it, to fight how his chest always gets so cold, but he doesn’t, because it’s not usually on hand when that happens. Tony walks to the edge of the tower and looks down, wondering what it would be like to fly without Holiday; to be completely free of the threat of metal in his chest.

He backs up. It would be a shame to ruin all Doctor Cho’s work. His eyes the sky again, and wishes none of this ever happened. 

The next evening, after he gets done with another long, painfully drawn out session with the Accords Counsel, Tony decides to ditch his driver (it’s not Happy. He wonders if Happy would have let him ditch) and go for a walk. It’s kind of cold, but that’s okay. He knocks on the door of the London Sanctum and waits. It’s all fine and good to do whatever for a first impression, but what if Stephen Strange doesn’t like him just waltzing in? What if he gets mad at him for it? What if he refuses to be-

The asian man with literally no facial expressions (Wog? Wong? Wong.) opens the door.

“Hi. I was wondering if Stephen Strange was around?” Wong doesn’t comment on Tony’s change in demeanor, nor does he take issue with his use of Doctor Strange’s first and last name.

“Come,” Wong says, and he turns and leads Tony inside. The inventor follows Wong through the dark London Sanctum and into a library. He is liberated of his suit jacket, installed in the biggest, most comfiest armchair, wrapped up in a blanket, and given a pot of tea to drink. Literally. Wong tells him to drink all of it. Tony just does it, and he doesn’t realize he’s been shaking until he has to hold the mug with both hands. The ceramic is just the perfect temperature for him.

The tea does something for the numbness. Though that feeling is still there, it’s not quite so daunting as it used to be just an hour ago. When the tea is gone and the fire is still gently pulsing waves of warmth over him, Tony lists to the side a little bit, eyes closing and face ducking down, body relaxing further.

Somewhere off beyond this world where everything is fuzzy and dim and warm and no one hates him and his chest isn’t really all metal, now, he hears voices murmuring. They’re so far away that he doesn’t bother to wake up. Instead, he just floats in that land of not quite asleep.

Some words and phrases drift through his head. Things like “no coat” and “who stays there?” but it doesn’t make any sense so he just lets them float far away. Eventually, he wakes later in the night, and sees that Stephen Strange is in the armchair opposite of him, flipping through a book.

“Hey,” Tony mumbles. Stephen gives him a look, and he thinks he’s going to get kicked out, but Stephen- Wong?- has already been so nice to him so maybe he was just keeping Tony occupied? And-

“I am honored that you would visit me, but if you keep walking around with no coat, you will get sick,” and Stephen Strange just says it so nicely that it doesn’t feel like a lecture. Like a “You’re failing here, here, and here” kind of deal It just feels like one friend a little concerned about the other.

“Oh. So I wasn’t intruding? I’m sorry I didn’t knock the first time.”

“My friends do not have to knock. If it is cold, I would rather they just come in.” Tony nods and leans his head into the side of the chair.

“I should go.”

“Only if you want to. I haven’t finished my tea.” Tony thinks he falls in love with the deep timber of Stephen Strange’s voice right there. Thinks he wants to stay in that quiet reality. That “you can go if you like, but I enjoy your company on a level that we don’t need to talk to have” is addicting and suddenly he remembers how he’d had that with this one alpha who’d made that mistake and-

“I don’t like you.” Stephen Strange’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh?”

“I mean, I don’t not like you, but I’m not looking for an alpha, so if that’s what this is I’m just gonna go.”

“It is good you aren’t looking for an alpha, because I’m not looking for an omega.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Stephen Strange agrees and Tony dozes again until Strange has finished his tea and then is transported to the Tower because he insists on going home. Tony doesn’t know why he did, because Tony doesn’t have any place to go but up.

 

...

 

His sixth night up on top of the tower, and the numbness has spread all the way down to his elbows and past his groin. He can’t drink anything hot enough to make the metal feel like bone. He can argue well enough to undo what has been done. He wonders if Thor is having fun up there in the stars, fucking around in Asgard. Wonders where Doctor Banner got to. They lost track of him somewhere in Cambodia. Wonders if Laura is angry at him for Clint getting dragged into things by wild stories that seemed just real enough.

He looks down, and wonders if anyone would miss him all that much. 

His seventh night up on top of the tower, he tries not to go up, but he’s been in the lab for ages just trying to make something that works. Something that can fix it. He doesn’t even know what he wants to fix, but he knows he has to. He gives up and takes the ride to temporary freedom.

When he was little, and he saw his father working or talking with those he worked with, he was just a little bit jealous. His father gets all that attention and all that time to do whatever he wants, and he’s stuck watching him perform from between the bannisters. Even back then, he’d known it was a performance.

He used to hang out with Jarvis when he was particularly tetchy over the whole situation, and they’d sit in his room and just talk. One of their favorite games was “if I were an inventor”. He thinks about the original Edwin Jarvis, imagines his gray hair and his kind face and the wrinkles earned from sixty odd years of laughter. Edwin Jarvis had raised his father before him, after all. He knew how Starks got antsy.

“If I were an inventor, Jarvis, I’d… invent a better me,” he starts, and he can hear, in the back of his mind, that voice responding.

_ If I were an inventor, Tony, I’d keep you exactly the way you are, and invent better hearts for everyone else. _

“If I were an inventor, I’d invent a new personality for me,” he says, because he always puts people off.

_ If I were an inventor, I’d invent a house where no one makes you think you need a new personality, Mind-Jarvis says. _

“You always want to make the strangest things,” Tony murmurs. He doesn’t want to play the game anymore.

He’s looking at the stars that aren’t there again and it’s too cold for his t-shirt, but it doesn’t matter. He kind of wants to fly without the suit.The suit always drags him down in the end. If he had just quit while he was ahead, while Pepper was at that tremulous place of hoping for so much but knowing that the risk was huge and still staying, then none of this would  have happened. He would have settled down. Had a baby or some shit like that.

He has FRIDAY on mute whenever he’s up here, so she can’t interrupt him. She tries so hard, but she’s not JARVIS. He wonders if he’s a bad parent, for wanting her to be something she’s not.

He wonders if maybe she’s numb too. He wonders if Stephen Strange doesn’t want him because he’s not worth wanting. Because everyone and their momma knows he’s not worth wanting. He’s strolling closer to the edge of the rooftop.

It’s one in the morning and he’s up here all alone. It’s one in the morning and he’s got half a mind to fly. He holds his arms out, his whole body numb, hair whipping in the wind on the top of the tower. 

He wants to know what it’s like to have wings. He closes his eyes, imagining himself rising, seeing the stars with his own eyes and not via the HUD. He imagines he goes up up up till he finds a heaven he never believed in. Shit, maybe it it’s real, his mother will be there.

He tips over the edge of the tower, knowing that, at any moment now, he’s going to fly away for good. Hard metal hits him in the stomach and chest, and he’s yelping, thinking for a moment that it’s caved in.

But it’s not and he snaps back to himself to realize that four of the iron legion have activated and are keeping him from moving and he’s screaming at FRIDAY to let him fly but the AI is on mute so all she does is keep her Boss from dying while he forgets the override codes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AND DEEP DEPRESSION
> 
> BEGIN TRIGGER WARNING SUMMARY
> 
> Tony's numbness from last chapter worsens into a destructive version of depression, and he begins to go up on the roof and fantasize about "flying without the suit". He pays a visit to Stephen Strange and Wong, who help him feel warm and okay for a while, but it's not enough, and he throws himself off the roof. He is saved by four Iron Legion suits, who catch him before he can fall too far. 
> 
> END TRIGGER WARNING SUMMARY
> 
> BEGIN REGULAR END NOTES
> 
> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)


	6. Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes to stay with Wong for a little bit.

By the time anyone arrives, Tony’s curled up on the asphalt. His hair, greasy from an unproductive lab binge and unwashed in Tony’s forgetfulness, does nothing to cushion his head. His eyes are closed tight, and he’s just drifting off into space.

One of the Iron Legion moves aside, and Tony finds himself looking up into the worried, silvery eyes of Doctor Stephen Strange.

“What were you thinking?” He says, voice as low and gentle as it was when he had mentioned not finishing his tea. That had been two days ago. Has it really been that long?

“Wanted to fly without the metal, this time.” Stephen Strange is cautiously resting his hand against Tony’s head,then sliding it down. He’s being petted. Like he’s not filthy. Like he’s not just some piece of shit former CEO who can’t keep his shit together. Like he isn’t a failure. 

“Come on now,” Stephen Strange says, helping him to sit up and gathering him close to himself. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d say the cloak he’s got on moves to hug him with a will of its own. Strange picks him up, and in a moment, they’re in the Sanctum again, and Wong is moving without ever being told to.

He can’t go all fuzzy and nice like he did before because all he wants to do is fly. He leans his head against the armchair and stars at the base of the fire where the light isn’t too bright to get lost in.

“Drink you tea,” Wong says, and Tony automatically fits the mug to his mouth. He thinks he says something about being numb, but he can’t remember, and in the end, even the hottest tea in the world doesn’t thaw him out.

“Are you mad?” he says sometime later, when it’s obvious he’s not drinking any more tea. Wong comes closer to him to collect the pot so Tony will stop looking at it like he’s failed the quiet librarian.

“Stephen is a dear friend of mine, and tonight, you have scared him,” Wong says upon his return.

“I’m always scaring people.”

“Is that so?”

“I always scared Steve. He used to get mad because I was reckless, but it’s not reckless when you have the math to back it up. Steve’s gone now, you know.”

“I know,” Wong says.

“Pepper’s in Malibu. She said she loves me but that she couldn’t be with me and not be bonded and also be the one who will get the phone call if something like Siberia happens again.”

“I am sorry. It seems you have terrible luck.”

“I’m gay. I think that was the craziest part about it. I didn’t even want her like that. I was in love, though,” and Tony sounds so sad that Wong wants to just never let him leave the Sanctum- keep him here and relaxed enough to talk until all his stories pour out like rancid wine and get washed away by the catharsis of being safe, finally. Briefly, he wonders if Stephen will be mad at him for saying this, but decides it's for a good cause.

“So it Doctor Strange. Gay, anyways. He was carrying on with a female alpha for a while, but they broke it off. I think it broke his heart.”

“I wonder if he felt numb about it.” Wong’s eyebrows plead with him to just raise up.

“By the time he could think properly, he was busy with much more. I’m sure he did though.” Tony smiles a little bit.

“I guess even magic doesn't fix the numbness.”

 

…

 

“What do you mean, he tried to kill himself?” Rhodey demands, voice all sharp with worry and fear that he almost lost his best friend. Somewhere in there is a little bit of relief that he didn’t.

“I mean his AI called my phone and said that her boss just tried to jump off the roof his his tower. By the time I got there, she had four Iron Man suits guarding him. He looks bad. Like he hasn’t slept in a week,” Stephen Strange says from his seat. With Tony deposited safely in Wong’s care, he’d called an emergency meeting with all the highest level Avengers that they have. That, right now, means Captain Danvers, Colonel Rhodes, and himself. Two alphas and a beta, trying to decide what to do with a suicidal omega. A prime, if rumors are to be believed. 

“Dammit,” Rhodey cursed, and Stephen Strange can hear the quiet whir of his braces as they’re put through half aborted movements.

“Yes.”

“How is he now?”

“He is in my study. Wong is watching over him. He was there two days ago; I think he had it in mind to pay some sort of social call, but he wound up drinking a pot of tea and falling asleep before I arrived.”

“So we know he can’t make another attempt.” Stephen Strange nods, and Rhodey relaxes just the tiniest bit.

“We’re going to have to get him tested,” Carol says. “I’ve seen a lot of omegas in my day, seen them sitting there after half their platoon got blown up; it’s never pretty. In fact it’s par for the course to put an omega who finds themselves without their people under suicide watch.”

“Why didn’t you mention that?”

“I thought Tony was… he’s always seemed stronger. Like he’s impervious to most things your average omega suffers from,” she explains, and if there isn’t just the tiniest trace of guilt in her face, Rhodey will eat his braces. “Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“I didn’t know omegas in that situation are watched like that,” Rhodey says. His face is thoughtful. Carol shrugs.

“The information is held pretty close to the chest. Omegas tend to do better if they know there are people there for them, but not because they think they’re gonna croak, you know?”

“Well, we’re past the point of subtlety,” Stephen interrupts, “so if we assume that Tony is a lot like those war omegas, then we need to get him to a psychiatrist. Figure out exactly what it is that’s pushing him over the edge.” Rhodey nods.

“He’s right. It’s been almost a year since the Avengers split, and even he and Vision have gotten back to their old terms. It can’t just be that.”

“The reaction could be delayed.”

“True. He doesn’t like dealing with feelings. Calls them too squishy.” Stephen Strange snorts in amusement.

“So what’s the best way? I doubt we can check him into a hospital with any degree of success, and, personally, there just aren’t that many people that I trust with Tony’s mental health, nowadays.” Carol slides her gaze over to Stephen Strange again.

“Well… the amount of people who qualify to fight with the Avengers numbers… eight, right about now. With you and I and Vision, we’ve got heavy hitters, and we’ve got brains, too.”

“So?” Rhodey asks.

“So let’s make up a watch list. Wong’s got Tony now, but how busy does Wong get?” Stephen Strange shrugs.

“Wong is, first and foremost, a librarian. If he takes over the majority of Tony’s time, then they’ll just be in the library, sipping tea and sleeping. The only time this could become a problem is if there were to be an emergency of magical proportions.”

“Okay, so we’ll all pick times, and any time Wong needs relief, be it to just go take a shower or go fight a guy, whoever is currently meant to be waiting will come over. If it’s okay,” Carol pauses, and waits for permission.

“It is okay. I worry, you know, that one of his many enemies might seek to polish him off if he stays gone and inactive for long enough. Blood in the water, and all that,” Stephen Strange notes. “In that respect, the London Sanctum is the best place to keep him. 

“I call first slot. However big that slot is. And as soon as he’s awake I’m going over to see him, Wong’s call or no,” Rhodey jumps in. The worry is clear in his voice.

“Well, with that taken care of, I guess it’s time to find someone to diagnose him and maybe give us some insight on what to do about the long term problem,” Carol says. She’s scrolling through something on her phone.

“I’ll get on the phone with Pepper. Assuming that Tony hasn’t been seeing any new faces, which he almost definitely hasn’t because he hates new faces, she’ll know the name of who we should take him to.”

 

…

 

“Are you sure you aren’t mad?” Tony says again. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been here, but he knows that feelings change in a second.

“I have never been more sure. Are you in need of a shower?” Wong asks, like he can’t see the smudges of engine grease or the dirt or the black from the asphalt on top of the tower.

“I… yes.”

“If I leave you to shower, are you going to try something that would make me break down the door?” and Tony should feel embarrassed at the question, should feel like a burden, but Wong says everything so calmly and seriously, that he doesn’t feel like that at all. Truthfully, he’s too tired to try preserving his pride.

“I don’t know,” and he doesn’t. He wants to fly, and he knows that everybody flies when they die, so maybe his thoughts will get stuck in the flying thing again. Somewhere far off, it disturbs him that he doesn’t know his own mind.

“Thankfully, we are in the London Sanctum. I will know the moment you need me. Shower,” Wong says, offering his thick hand. Tony takes it, uses it to keep his balance when the whole world lists to the side for a second. 

Tony takes his time in the shower, letting the heat run over him endlessly before carefully scrubbing at every inch of skin he has and scratching at his hair with shampoo until his scalp is raw and clean again. When he steps out of the shower, his head is still in a funny place where maybe Wong is mad, but it’s a slightly better funny place.

On the toilet of the small bathroom, a stack of amenities has been left. He can’t do much for his goatee (no razor. How shocking) but there is deodorant, and a brush, an a tunic and leggings like what Doctor Strange wears. He thinks he likes “Doctor Strange” better than “Stephen Strange”.

“Feeling better?” Wong asks when Tony opens the door.

“A bit. Where did Doctor Strange go?”

“I am  not sure. What I can tell you is there wherever he goes, it is with a purpose.” Tony accepts that and trails after Wong back to the sitting room with the fire. Instead of settling into the wing backed chair again, Wong directs him to the overlong chaise lounge on the opposite side of the room.

It doesn’t take long for Tony to fall asleep like that, all quiet and warm and safe in the knowledge that Wong is there. He wonders when Wong started to mean safety. He’s seen the man two or three times in his whole life.

 

…

 

When Tony wakes up, Wong makes him eat. It’s not much- just two boiled eggs, still warm enough to make the solid yolk just the right sort of soft, and lightly salted- but it is enough for now. After that, there is more tea, and Wong brings him a book, and they spend an hour or so reading.

After a while, someone rolls into the study, and Tony freezes up. What if Rhodey’s mad? Who would make Rhodey braces if Tony’s gone?

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey says, and it’s so soft that Tony forgets his train of thought for long enough that Rhodey gets all the way across the wood floor and is pulling Tony into a hug before the inventor can get nervous.

“I’m sorry,” he swears as Rhodey’s hands run up and down his back over the tunic, “I won’t do it again. I’ll make a change. Make it better. I’ll-”

“It’s okay, Tony,” Rhodey says, and it seems that those words are the final crack in the dam, and Tony starts to cry.

It isn’t pretty. Great, gulping sobs force their way up out of his mostly empty stomach and fill the air with the ugliness that Tony just wanted to bury. Tears and snot wet his face and he has to cough to breathe which hurts his lungs and then he has to cry some more because he’s so tired of his heart and lungs hurting. So tired of having to fight himself to stay alive.

He’s shaking so badly he doesn’t even notice being leaned back until he’s pressed into the lounge again. Doesn’t even notice the way Rhodey relaxes so that he’s laying on top of him. Eventually, though, the tears dry up, and Rhodey fits himself in beside Tony to talk. Wong helps them cover up and goes to fetch something to eat. It is nearly lunch.

“Are you mad?” Tony whispers, because maybe if he says it quietly enough, Rhodey will stay.

“No. Listen, Tones. We worried about you.”

“Who’s worried?”

“Myself, Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, Wong, and Pepper. We’re the only ones who know.”

“Okay.”

“So I need you to help me help you. I got on the phone with your doctor, and she’s arranged a meeting with a therapist. We’re going to get you diagnosed so that we can start getting you better, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says, because he’s just too tired to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)


	7. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's road to recovery starts by Carol answering some of his fears about his future, and ends with yet another issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for suicide recovery

Tony’s doctor is named Inez Mendoza. As a beta ten years past the latest anyone should get pregnant, she is nearly scentless. She’s the way Bruce is when he’s not the Hulk. She’s got dark skin, marbling black hair down to her waist, and a lifetime of laugh and frown lines etched across her face. She sits at the conference table with the leaders of the Avengers. In her hands is a sheaf of papers. Those papers are important.

The sheaf of papers is presented to Carol Danvers, Stephen Strange, and Rhodey. They each take their time to read them and discuss what they mean in practice. This sheaf of papers marks a handful of discussions, some of which happen within the private chambers of the Accords Counsel.

The sheaf of papers is instrumental to the behavior of all of the Avengers and a select few affiliates, though only the three core Avengers, plus the Accords counsel has actually read it. Well, Fury read it. But Fury officially has not read it. 

The sheaf of papers has lead to a meeting. For once, it isn’t held in a private meeting room, as per protocol, but in the study of Doctor Strange’s home. All the chairs and what not have been faced towards the center of the room, so that there is no hiding behind the imposing wingback, or shrinking all that far into the chaise lounge. 

It has been what feels like an eternity since Tony saw anyone in any official capacity.

“Tony,” Carol says, and she looks like she’s trying her best to remain professional, but not cold.

“Yeah,” he answers, hands beneath the blanket spread across his lap so that they can’t see the tremble. This is it. This is the moment where everyone’s had access to that stupid fucking report and now they’re going to say he isn’t an Avenger anymore and-

“We think it would be best if you moved into the Compound.”

“What?” he says, mind blanking. (he hates it when that happens. It doesn’t happen all that much when it’s him and Wong, after all. But now it’s happening and he hates it).

“In light of recent events, everyone who knows you is very worried. We don’t want you dead, and we don’t want to leave you alone to deal with what’s bothering you. We don’t think you want to be alone either.” 

She’s right, of course. She has experience in this sort of thing. That’s partially why Tony had sidled up to her in her favorite, out-of-the-way cafe, plopped down with his coffee, and asked for her signature and her involvement. She’s right, and she knows it.

“What about being an Avenger?”

“According to your physical medical reports, it isn’t a good idea to put you in the field. Not until we can test to see if the strain will shorten your lifespan even further. That is, first and foremost, the reason I am forbidding you to serve in the field, barring extreme emergencies. In all other areas, though, you are the best fit.” And that surprises Tony. Best fit for what? Top model for What Not To Be?

“As you know and designed, the Avengers have core members, major members, and minor members. Currently, that first category is filled by myself, Doctor Strange, and Rhodey. In light of the way you set the new Avengers up, it seems it would be best if you were a core member as well. For now, and possibly permanently if this works out, we believe the best way to do this is to have you be a core Avenger over the same group that Rhodey currently leads.” Carol says, pausing to gauge Tony’s reaction.

“Individually, you two are too busy. The air force has not discharged Rhodey despite his injuries, and you are still the head of R&D for Stark Industries, plus the front runner for a lot of relief efforts. It isn’t fair to ask either of you to do all that, plus be a core member, plus maintain a decent personal life. Together, though, the strain would lessen considerably. 

Enough that if, say, one of you needed to attend his therapy appointments on a regular basis, or the other needed to go to his PT three times a week, it wouldn’t be at the cost of your duties, meaning you couldn’t feel guilty at doing so, and consequently not do what you need to do for your personal health out of a sense of duty.” 

And bless her, she doesn’t say shit about how Tony’s new weekly therapist appointments drive his anxiety through the roof every time he thinks about going. She doesn’t say anything about how he stares at his pills- medications for anxiety and hormonal balance and an upper and a downer- for a long time because he can’t quite bring himself not to be ashamed of needing them. 

She doesn’t say anything even though he knows she knows. He knows she knows how he easily popped scent blockers and pheromone blockers like it was fucking candy and this shouldn’t be any different. She doesn’t even say shit about how no one else seems to need someone to work alongside someone, either. She just puts her decision in the middle of the floor, and waits for the yes, the no, and the questions.

“Why bother? You know I’ve never been an Avenger?” Carol’s face darkens at that, and Tony thinks for a moment she’s angry at him, and then-

“And, consequently, you never should have been in the position to be thrown out of a window, to fight aliens, or to fly a nuke into a wormhole. Make no mistake about it, I am extremely grateful to the hundreds and thousands of lives you saved, doing like you did. That aside, you have never been treated as a consultant. So you should have been either upgraded to an Avenger or they should have stopped treating you as though you were, but without the benefits. You’re non-Avenger status has always been a gross oversight, and I intend to correct that.”

Tony’s head goes a bit fuzzy (god, he hates that), but when he comes back to himself, Carol is just watching, calm. They all are.

“I think I need different meds. I can’t stay focused.”

“Well, the meds are a trial and error thing; we’ll get that separated out. For now: do you agree to our decisions?”

“Well… what happens, then? Practically speaking?”

“Well, you’ll be put down as a core Avenger immediately, but we won’t actually expect you to do anything except recover until it is prudent to do otherwise. After that, we will still expect you to work on your mental health, because believe me when i ay that no one wants to see you jump again. We’re lucky you didn’t get more creative with it the first time.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Tony looks across the room, at this muscular, lovely blonde who has walked in here and told him things that he thought were going to make him panic but instead makes him feel warm. He looks at Rhodey who is watching with a fond smile, like he’s enjoying watching the gears in Tony’s brain turn, even if they’re doing so slowly. He looks at Strange, who has never once regarded him with derision or suspicion, even when he got put on Suicidal Short Stack duty. He looks at Wong, who’s expressionless, round face gives nothing away. He is waiting with tea.

“Yes… yes. Yes. yes,” he agrees, that last word hardly a whisper. He leans his head against the wingback, eyes at half mast, and smiles a little. The numbness is still there, but he feels like, one day, he’ll be able to thaw all the way out.

 

…

 

He still stares a really long time at his meds in the morning. It’s been three months, to the day, and the fuzziness isn’t getting better. Six different combinations of what he needs and he still blanks out. At dinner time, in the middle of meetings, talking one on one, it’s all the same. No one rushes him, but he hates it so much.

He just won’t take them today. See if it gets any better. He hides the pills under his pillow.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Boss?” FRIDAY asks from the ceiling. He feels he’s getting along better with her, nowadays, since things like Rhodey tugging him down onto the couch to lay with his head in his old friend’s lap and his feet on Stephen Strange’s happen regularly.

“I don't know, FRIDAY, but I can’t go back to work in the workshop if I can’t… beat this stopping thing.”

“I can do stats for you, Boss,” his AI says after a moment.

“There’s my girl.” His second alarm of the day goes off. It’s a Tuesday, and he’s got no meetings (whoop!), and he’s supposed to go see the Spiderling (whoop whoop!), and the workout isn’t all that long this time (whoop whoop whoop!).

“Okay, enough fucking around. I wonder who's cooking,” he says conversationally as he slides his feet into his black loafers. With his knit cap securely hugging the back of his head, he slides out the door. He always cold, these days, so he rarely goes anywhere not fully dressed, with at least two layers to cover up the arc reactor light and a jacket besides. 

Today’s combination is mostly black, with the scarf in a bumble-bee pattern. It was a gift from their newest nerd, Janet van Dyne, who they brought in shortly after Pym Industries was cleared from any wrong-hood connected to the Civil War. 

If the company is in the clear, Tony wants to have someone to talk nerd with. No. He wants a whole team of nerds to debate with. He’s taken over some of the duties that Rhodey shouldered alone, now, and he’s anticipated to be fully recovered enough for Rhodey to return to duty in three to six month’s time, assuming a couple things happen first.

He still hasn’t had a heat. It’s been, like, a year and a half. Whatever. It’ll happen, and it’ll suck, and then he’ll get his shit adjusted AGAIN, and then he’ll be good to go.

“Tony. Tones. My favorite nerd. Look!” Janet van Dyne shouts across the space at him. Tony jerks a bit. Three months, and he’s still not used to people regularly and consistently wanting to talk to him about random shit. He looks. There’s a lot of good looking shit on a plate.

“So that’s where the bacon smell is coming from,” he muses, sidling over and taking the plate from her. Janet, as a Very Rich Heiress (™), has never had to cook for herself. Like Tony did way back when, she’s recently realized that, while she has no experience, it’s not too hard to open up a spice bottle to smell and guess at what will taste good. Since Tony is one of the few people to understand just what this enthusiasm is about, he’s her main test subject. He doesn’t mind.

“Yes it is,” she says, suddenly quiet and nervous as Tony takes a piece and crunches down. The other omega is waiting with breath more baited than when a million dollars is riding on a poker hand for Tony’s Seal of Approval.

“God, you’re a natural. This is great. Can I has the whole plate?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows as Vision moves in through the doorway and Carol, who was leaned up against the counter, having been guinea pig No. 1, hands him a cup of coffee.

“Hah! No. Carol already asked. So you can have half a plate.” Tony looks from his coffee to the bacon to Carol, shrugs, and follows her to the dining room table. Half a plate of bacon is definitely the way to start breakfast.

Plus coffee. Aaaaalways coffee.

“What’s on the agenda before one and after, like, four thirty?” Tony asks. The core avengers have their own internal Google-style calendar, but most days Tony’s too distracted to read it. He’ll have to work on that. Leaders, which he is now, are supposed to communicate with each other. That includes giving a glance to the calendar every morning. He’d have time if he wasn’t so focused on trying to get the pills down. Carol starts to talk, but Tony zones. Blinks. Looks to her.

“Sorry. How long was that?”

“Ninety three seconds, by my count,” Vision supplies, sitting down with his fried eggs. One of them is a fucking mess, the other just perfectly done. Jan is still working on that. Tony gets this look on his face. He HATES zoning out.

“Don’t worry, Tony. We’ll figure it out.” He likes the “we”; the easy reminder that he is not alone in wanting himself to be stable. 

“Yeah,” he says, picking up a piece of meat that has the spices crusted on just so.

“What’s the last thing you heard?” he’s tired of hearing that phrase.

“Just me asking you what’s on the agenda.”

“Me and three other people are playing poker in Game Room 4. We have a meeting right before that, so that we can all be encouraged to end on time.”

“God knows we could use more of that.”

“Community-wise, there’s a Mario-Kart Tournament in Game Room 2, the pool tables have all been reserved from like five to ten, and Stephen’s people are all being pulled for training in the mystic arts at four.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You?”

“Did I forget to put it on there?” Tony says, worry making his eyebrows crease. Primes don’t project scents as much as most others do, since what they feel affects a lot of people a lot more strongly. That said, it’s harder to smell what he feels, but his face gives it all away.

“Yes, but with so many moving parts, it’s okay to forget sometimes,” Carol says.

And Tony knows that Carol doesn’t hold it against him. All the same, he tells himself to work on it. 

 

…

 

It’s only eight in the evening, Tony is wide awake, and pissed. Six times. SIX TIMES he blanked out today. More than average. He usually does this once or twice, but he did the shit six times, averaging 47.5 seconds, each. He wants to hit something. 

Healthy coping mechanisms, he thinks as he wraps his knuckles and attacks a bag. 

“GOD DAMMIT!” He yells at the dull brown leather.

“Hey,” Rhodey says as he wheels over, braces in the carry bag at the back of the wheelchair.

“What?” Tony snaps, a sweaty, angry mess.

“What’s wrong.”

“Me! Isn’t that the normal answer?! It’s always me. Tony Fucking Stark, top of the food chain for years! Savant in every sense of the word! Can’t fucking focus enough to go into his own workshop,” he yells into the empty air. He’s turned from Rhodey as he does this, and ends the rant with his arms spread wide, facing the bag he’d been trying to beat up just like the Captain did effortlessly, no anger necessary. 

“Oh, Tones.”

“What?” he snaps again.

“I think it’s time you told your therapist.”

“I don’t want more drugs, though,” he says, and suddenly he’s that scrawny brat Rhodey had adopted all those years ago, all skinny with a bruised cheek because he just could not keep himself out of trouble and desperately sad because that disappointed Howard.

“I don’t think it’s the drugs though. Did you take them today?”

“No. I… it’s not that I don’t want to get steady. I just want to focus.” Tony says, leaned up against the bag, one arm visible above his head.

“Tones… the entire time I’ve known you, I have never brought up your orientation,” Rhodey starts, and Tony stiffens, “because too many times, I have seen people look at you, the amazing, dazzling, complicated boy or man that you are, and say it must be because he’s an omega. And it hasn’t been true. Not even once. It was always something else, whether they knew or not. But you haven’t had a heat in a year an a half, and it might not be the drugs, and I can’t think of another reason. Some trauma… affects you emotionally. Moreso now that you are an unmedicated prime. Just tell your therapist, okay? Go in to see her, and tell her.”

“Okay,” Tony says, nodding. His sweaty hair rubs against the bag. Rhodey wheels a little closer.

“For what it’s worth, I hope it’s something else.”

 

…

 

This prison, like many other prisons, is all fluorescent lights and dreary, washed out colors. Two women- an old, mexican-american beta and a tall bostonian alpha- walk as one unit behind the prison guard. They are led to an empty room with a single table in it, a small, u shaped piece of metal looping out on one side. From the way all noise is dead, and the air seems lifeless, the women can tell the room is soundproof.

They lead are left, alone, for five minutes.

After that, the door opens, and a man in a washed out jumpsuit is led inside. He is wearing cuffs. They restrain him to the table. The women can tell why: there is a faded bruise on one side of his face, the discoloration even uglier in this light. Three of his knuckles are split. This one is a fighter.

“Mr. Barton. I’m sure it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Carol Danvers, Captain Marvel, as far as superheroes go, and this is Doctor Mendoza, who has come to an interesting conclusion that you may want to hear.” Barton nods, eyes on the briefcase Mendoza had come in with.

“We’re here today to talk to you about Anthony Stark, who has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Regression Syndrome, or PTRS. In short, this means that Doctor Stark’s body is behaving as though he is still under heavy danger that is not conducive to his health.” Barton has the decency to look ashamed.

“In short, it is like PTSD, only for pheromones and hormones. But you would know that already, wouldn’t you, Barton?” A nod. “To date, the most effective treatment for this illness is to induce heats until the patient’s body realizes that it is safe and does so on it’s own. We can do that chemically, but Stark’s medical history suggests that this is dangerous, outright deadly even, should anything go even the slightest bit wrong,” Doctor Mendoza goes on. Barton has some idea of where this is going. 

“Our other option is to recreate the circumstances in which Dr. Stark last felt safe enough to have a heat.” Carol clears her throat, and Barton’s gaze switches to her.

“Three weeks ago, we had a meeting with the Accords Counsel, independent of Doctor Stark, and presented the conclusion that, as the most eligible person to do the job, you are the best option for getting Dr. Stark through another heat without harm to his person. 

“In light of this, and also in light of the fact that you turned yourself in, without fuss, less than a week after the Avenger’s Civil War, alongside your wife corroborating the story of misinformation you presented to the court when you plead guilty to various charges, and your signature on the Sokovia Accords, version 12.5, the Counsel has come to the conclusion that, were you to be given a second chance, you would use it wisely.” Barton’s heart starts to beat a bit faster, but his unresponsive poker face does not change.

“This is the agreement that has been drafted and approved of in its entirety,” Danvers says as she slides out a folder from within the briefcase. “When gotten down to the essentials, it simply states that in exchange for aiding Tony Stark with his PTRS, the remainder of your sentence will be waived and you will be cautiously considered for superhero duty again, provided you meet and maintain a gauntlet of requirements laid out by the Counsel and the core Avengers members, including Dr. Stark. We will leave you now, and return in two days. During that time, a lawyer will come and walk you through your the contract. Is that clear, Mr. Barton?”

“It is,” Barton says, eyes on the plain manila folder in front of him.

When she returns the Wednesday, without Doctor Mendoza, Clint Barton has signed every page, and is sitting calmly, waiting for her to see. He is not cuffed to the table this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	8. Water, Stagnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't all rainbows and butterflies now that Clint's back, but he does get confirmation that he isn't the only one Cap lied to.

Tony and Clint have not been in the same room together since… forever. Jesus. It’s not an easy thing to do, really. Not at all. There’s this heavy feeling of wrong that permeates the air and chokes out anything they shared. They were synced before. Knew, almost, how the other was feeling before. Had each other’s backs, before.

Now there’s just this wasteland a mile wide between them, even though Clint is standing at one end of his newly issued room and Tony at the door.

“Just wanted to see if they really got you,” he murmurs, arms crossed.

“Yeah, they did,” Clint answers. With all of his things from the farm in storage, there isn’t much to do in the way of unpacking.

“The farm’s gone. Dunno if they told you that. It took an exceptional amount of effort to pry the Accords out of Ross’ hands, and I couldn’t do that before he went looking for your favorite hidey hole. We had everything gone and farm bulldozed before he could find anything. There’s a bunch of solar mills out there now.” 

“Thank you,” Clint says. “Did you read my letter?”

“I did. He really tell you I’d lost my mind?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me the story,” Tony orders. His voice is soft, but there’s no room for a “no” in there, either. Clint almost doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to look back at that time because of how completely and utterly wrong it felt, but-

 

…

 

It was raining, the water sluicing against the windows and thunder rattling the panes. If Clint didn’t know any better, he’d say Thor had arrived. He did know better. He and the kids were parked on the floor of the living room, Xbox controllers in hand, some version of Mario Smash Bros. on the TV. Dimly, Clint can remember when the Nintendo 64 came out, and he used to gather ‘round with the other dirty-ass kids on his block to play.

Laura is relaxed in the recliner, a warm mug of tea in her hand, content to observe with the baby- brand new and pink faced- in her hands. Clint’s cell went off, the chorus of Ms. Jackson playing. Laura loved to hate that song. Clint’s cell never went off. Tony texted. ‘Tasha either texted or visited. Precious few bothered at all, really. The cell going off was a minor miracle.

Clint paused the game and sent the kids into the kitchen. Their snacks have been waiting for three rounds already. Laura followed him to the bedroom. The lock clicks into place, and then:

“Hello.”

“Clint. Hi. How’s it been?”

“Hey, Steve.” Clint wanted to keep it short. He’s still a little wary after that monumental fuck-up with “exposing” HYDRA, but it was competing with the returning trust after the Ultron debacle. He sometimes wondered if he ought to come out of retirement, to see for himself which should win out.

“Listen… there’s something wrong with Tony. He’s joined with Ross, and they’re both on this counsel who have drafted an agreement that would allow for superheroes to work for the government. Be used by the government for whatever they see fit. I think it’s got something to do with Ultron. He hasn’t been the same after it, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“He can’t sleep, won’t eat, constantly argues with Wanda and thinks she’s out to get him… I think he’s gone a little mad. Without you and Bruce there to balance him, there’s nothing to pull him off anything destructive he might get attached to.” The guilt dropped on Clint like a weighty comforter in the summer with no air-conditioning, all heavy and suffocating and entirely too close.

“So I need to come and snap him out of it.” There was silence on the line.

“The other part of the story is that Ross is gunning for all the enhanced people he can get his hands on. He can’t do that without them being… at risk, as it were, and not too long ago, Bucky was framed for the UN bombing.” Clint didn’t watch the news much. Or at all, really. It made him antsy, and new events could throw him into bouts of depression if they reminded him sharply enough of old circumstances.

“Shit, really?”

“But he didn’t do it! In any case, Stark is coming with the Avengers that have sided with him to capture Bucky, and I need to get him out of the country. I… I don’t think he wants this, but he’s already signed, you know?”

“Yeah.” Clint knew first hand how a signature could ruin your fucking life.

“Can I count on your help?” Clint glanced at Laura, who looked so worried.

“Hang on.”

“If Stark has lost his mind, he’ll need someone to pull him out of it, after the explosions are over,” Laura said contemplatively. Clint’s eyes were drawn down to the little elvish looking bundle. His baby’s skull could fit in the palm of his big hand. 

“Just for a while,” he murmured, a little bit mesmerized by the movement of a damp mouth, the flex of silk-soft fingers.

“Just for a little while. He was your Prime,” Laura reminds him, voice gentle.

“He used scent blockers,” Clint argues.

“Doesn’t change the fact that that’s what he was.” He leaned down a little further and kissed Laura on her forehead, his bond bite twinging at the decision.

“No, it doesn’t.” Clint unmutes the phone. “Where will you be, Steve?”

“We need to get on a jet, and Stark’s going to arrive in one.”

 

…

 

Tony laughs. 

“He got you, didn’t he?”

“Like a baby agent,” Barton says, and he looks so sad when he says it that Tony knows he hates how… new he acted in that moment. Tony steps forwards and hands Clint an envelope. 

“I don’t trust you, Barton. I know you’re here to help, but I can’t quite convince myself you will. But I’m warning you now, if you betray me again, accidentally or not, I’m throwing you into the deepest, darkest prison I can find, and I don’t care what it does to you. The only reason you’re back now is because Laura corroborated your story. 

“That being said, you’re going to like what you find in that envelope. We couldn’t let Laura and the kids near you, because Ross was gunning for them, and after that there were too many like him to guarantee safety. But now that you’re almost not a criminal…” Tony strides off without a goodbye, and Clint opens the envelope. 

In it is a cell phone (a Starkphone). Programmed into it is Laura’s number and the numbers of two of his children, along with a separate ID card from the one he’d been given in the van on his way over here. The first would get him around the Compound. The second would get him into another building, whose address is saved on the homescreen. 

He presses his wife’s name. The phone rings, seemingly forever, and then:

“Hello?” his throat is already getting tight by the time he manages to answer back.

“Hey, Laura. God, I miss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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	9. Water, Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Months have passed since Tony and Clint have tried to make up.

“How’s it going with you and Clint?” His therapist asks. She’s an older woman- late fifties, if Tony had to hazard a guess. She’s black, though, so it’s hard to tell. Her name is Ada Lawrence. She’s very smart.

“It’s going. It’s hard, because he ran off with Steve, and I know he didn’t have all the information, or even part of it, and I keep reminding myself that he never would have run off if he’d known the full story, but every time he walks into the room, I get nervous.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I don’t know. All these different situations go through my head and none of them make sense but for a moment they seem so real that it’s hard to think of anything else.” Tony tips the can of Doctor Pepper up. It’s partially as a distraction, partially because he’s just thirsty.

“Like what?”

“Like he walks in and I’m just like: oh, god, Ultron’s alive. Or oh, god, he’s finally realized that I am not worth it. It’s a range,” Tony says with a wave of his hand. It’s supposed to be casual. It isn’t.

“How often do you think things like that? Just when he appears?”

“No. I mean, it’s worse with him, but I’ll walk into a meeting and everyone else will already be there and I’ll think: they’re getting rid of me. I don’t know if that’s from when Obie did it or from the Exvengers, but I get that one a lot.”

“Is it just with people who tend to bring stress with them?”

“No. It’ll be game night, and, you know, if you’re going to bet in pool, you play me if you want a challenge, right? So we’ll put a tournament on the calendar, and I’m just so ready to play, because we always bet with fun shit. Sometimes it’s money, but it isn’t as fun as say… the betting candy for the poker game that’s supposed to happen in a few hours or something like that. So it’ll be pool night, and I’ll walk in, all ready to geometry the shit out some baby Avengers, and everyone will be there, and someone will be rearranging the balls, and I’ll think: they don’t want me.” he takes a breath.

“Or I’ll go see Wong because apparently not even Stephen Strange is around to drink tea with him, and I’ll think: this is the day he says I’m too annoying. And I know these things aren’t true- they aren’t. They can’t be. None of the signs are there. But I still think that, and it takes a stupid amount of effort to will the thoughts away. Most days I can’t will them away.” Tony takes another drink and looks down at his Starktab, fiddling with the designs on the screen with his stylus. His therapist is the first person he didn’t first know very well to accept that he does not do as well without something to work on.

“You’ve mentioned this before. On three separate occasions. Do you think it’s linked to issues that occurred with the Exvengers or from before?”

“I dunno. People have this habit of treating me like a vending machine? Like, insert effort, remove product, then move out when satisfied?”

“Has this happened since the Avengers Renovations?”

“No, but I can’t help but waiting. Is it me? Is it something that needs to be treated?” Ada shrugs a shoulder.

“Personally, it sounds like partially pheromonal confidence issue, exacerbated by a lifelong pattern of abandonment, cemented by the past two years. We could treat it like we do the anxiety, but I think that working with Clint will take the power out of the words. You two were synced, and while I realize he is bonded, it may help to reach a place where you and the rest of his family sync as well.”

“So the solution is just to keep on?” Ada nods.

“Regression shows itself in a variety of ways, Tony. Sometimes you just stop having heats, other times, you stop feeling, other times, you feel too much, and that makes it hard to understand anything at all.”

“Like the numbness.”

“Yes.” 

“It’s small, now. I thought you might want to know. I mean, it flairs up when I dream about shit or when my thoughts get cyclical or ruminate, but mostly it’s small.” He’s learning to tell when he gets stuck in The Cycle, as he and his therapist and the few he’s told anything to call it.The cycle is having one thought or group of thoughts over and over again. I.e.: he should fly without the armor, because what if the metal gets in his chest?

“I’m glad to hear that.” He thinks Ada might just mean it.

 

…

 

“Hey,” Clint says. He always announces himself before he goes closer to Tony; it only took one panic attack to teach him that lesson.

“Yeah,” Tony says, looking up from where he’s still working on that design on the couch. Janet van Dyne has fallen asleep with her head on his thigh, pixie cut a little bit disarrayed.

“Just… the kids wanted you to have these.” It’s an envelope, official looking, but for the words For Doctor Stark in messy, rainbow crayon.

“Why?”

“I told them what happened. On the off-chance that they ever meet another superhero,” he says with a little smile, “I wanted them to know the facts. They’re in love with you.”

“Everyone’s in love with Tony. Obvs.” Janet says.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Hmmm… I was drifting. It’s your scent. It’s fucking lovely. Also someone smelled somewhat distressed and very contrite, so there.” Tony opens the envelope. Janet leans up to look, too. 

“My god. Why haven’t I met the Barton shortstacks?”

“Too much risk,” Tony mutters as he goes through each drawing. Sometimes they’re completely nonsensical; an abstract: child addition. Other times, they’re pictures of the family, sloppy names written over each head. Then there’s one near the end, with three figures the names “Mom”, “Dad”, and “Toni” written over each head.

“Oh my god, the Barton shortstacks understand polyamory.”

“Move, Janet,” Tony says, not unkindly. He sets the drawings down and steps forward a bit until he’s standing just inside Clint’s personal bubble. Slowly, like both of them could startle like deer (and they definitely would startle like deer), Tony wraps his arms around Clint, and vice versa. 

Clint’s scent has changed. He smells like hard concrete and cold nights at his core, family over layed by anxiety and something muted, too. Underneath it all, though he’s still that feisty omega who Tony only bonded with after they’d moved into the tower. One who loved to bet on dart games but hated that Tony had the advantage of pool. 

Tony drops his head to a muscular shoulder. Clint hesitantly nudges his neck with his nose, scenting him where he’s the strongest. Tony is all Prime, all metal and spice and energy, now joined by weakening strains of fear and anxiety that smell just the tiniest bit sour.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Clint murmurs, and Tony sags against him a little, knees giving out as something that kept him from emotionally accepting Clint crumbles away, and he presses closer than ever. 

 

…

 

The next morning, Tony is a raging, angry mess.

“STUPID FUCKING BLANKETS NOT LAYING PROPERLY!”

“Boss, would you-”

“MUTE!” So far, Tony has gathered the extra bedding from his closet, the stuff off his bed, raided the two linen closets on his hallway, flipped the mattress off it’s frame, and was sitting in the middle of the angry mess under a sheet too gauzy to sit right. Tony is fuming.

“Tony-”

“I SAID MUTE!” There’s silence, then the deliberately heavy fall of feet, then the sheet is being whipped off his bedhead. Janet is looking down at him, one eyebrow quirked.

“Do I look like your AI?”

“Can you act like my AI and fuck off?” One of Janet’s little hands press against his forehead. Against his cantankerous mood, he leans into the touch.

“You’re running hot. Any chance you might be nesting?” Tony’s eyes go wide in his head.

“Nooooo,” he whines, falling backwards onto the mess and rolling under a thick afghan.

“Oh, you are so nesting.”

“I’ve never nested before!” he says, voice too high for dignity. 

“Why not?” Jan says. She leaves him be for a moment, whipping out her phone to text Rhodey.

“Never wanted kids.” The nesting phenomenon is when an omega builds a nest that signals that omega’s readiness for kids. But Tony is gay (not that Janet knows), so he’s never had the nesting fever before. 

The media had had a field day when that little bit of info leaked. It was all over the headlines how the most eligible omega in New York was not fit to parent. Tony had been pissy about it for weeks after the headlines had changed to other topics.

“What are you doing? Tell me you aren’t- I don’t need anyone.”

“Not for a few hours, at least. Come here. I always wanted to know what it’s like to full on cuddle with a Prime,” Janet says, sliding her feet out of her vans and crawling into the monstrous, misbehaving nest. She expertly pulls blankets and pillows and Tony this way and that, so that, after she’s done, there is a nice circle of perfect surrounded by disaster. She pulls blankets over the top of the nice part, and Tony automatically makes her the little spoon. 

“Come ooon, I was doing so well with pampering you.”

“It’s nice that you’re small,” he mumbles, and Janet sighs. Symptom number two of Nesting Fever: the need to baby the smallest, cutest omega around. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on where you’re standing) Rhodey was busy, so when he digs his phone out of his bag after PT and meditation and meetings, and sees that there’s a text from Janet van Dyne stating that Tony has nesting syndrome, time stamped from three hours ago, he damn near breaks his neck, he moves so quickly. 

His phone is ringing in his hand as he’s making his way over to the omega dormitories, swiping his card at the access point by the time it picks up.

“Hello?” Clint says, and he sounds out of breath.

“Tony’s got Nesting Fever. Get over to his room now.” he passes through the airlocked door, fills up his lungs, and yells out:

“ ALPHA ON THE FLOOR!” Choruses of goods and the occasional slamming door or clicking lock answer him as he makes his way down the broad hallways until he comes to Tony’s room and waits. Clint gets there in five minutes. Rhodey knocks, bouncing up and down just enough to hear the servos in his braces clicking in agitation. 

“FUCK OFF!” a voice yells. It’s so Tony to say that when he should rightfully be collecting people for his nest.

“Come in!” says a smaller, higher voice. Janet.

“Sorry about the delay. Tones. Are you there?”

“NO!”

“I brought Clint.” Tony’s head wriggles out of the disaster area that was the back corner of his room. He nuzzles into Janet as wide brown eyes survey the other omega in the hallway.

“Get in here.” he orders. Clint slips past Rhodey, a bag in his hand. Tony gives an annoyed look to his long time friend. Rhodey takes it for the dismissal it is, waves to Janet, who looks very blissed out for someone not getting fucked, and heads back to the entrance to the omega dormitories.

“ALPHA OFF THE FLOOR!” He hollers as the door seals shut behind him.

Clint, for his part, makes Tony take pain pills.

“Don’t want to,” he says, hiding behind Janet.

“We know, but this heat is going to be bad, and I want you as comfortable as possible, as long as possible,” Clint murmurs as he smooths blankets away. Tony looks up at him from his hiding spot before sitting up and doing as he’s told, then laying back down.

“Lose the shirt,” he orders, and Clint withdraws to change into a pair of basketball shorts and crawls under the covers of the nest to flank Tony’s back. The moment he settles, the inventor is fast asleep. 

The heat, as predicted, is one of the worst Tony has ever had. Worse than the first three after he went off his pills. Giant, tsunami sized waves of cramping and irritability crashed down on him, interspersed an intense need to be close to both of them. Somehow, Clint had to get him to keep taking his daily medications through all seven fucking days of his heat, and all the times are when Tony least wants to cooperate, and there’s a lot of swearing and tears but, eventually, on Wednesday at 9pm, the three stumble up and into the showers, the last of the heat draining away in the gentle way Cling scrubbed through Tony’s hair.

The three stumble into the communal kitchen in the omega dormitory and eat enough for eight, then to Janet’s room, because Tony’s room smells like heat and body odor. In the end, though, they all get a real sleep, and wake up ready. 

 

…

 

The last time Tony saw the alpha, he was being hoisted off the ground by his neck. The last time Tony saw the omega, his mother was taking him to be treated for some very serious mental illnesses. He’s not sure what to do now. 

Thor and Loki each sit in conference room B-12, waiting. Around the table sits the core Avengers- James Rhodey Rhodes, Carol Danvers, Stephen Strange, Tony Stark and, last but not least and on loan from the Xavier Institute for a trial run: Doctor Jean Grey. 

“As much as it pains me to see that the original team has fallen into such disarray, it would appear that this new wave of Avengers is much better equipped for the task at hand,” Thor says, and Tony can’t stop looking at his eyepatch, wondering who blinded the God of Thunder. 

“What is the task at hand?” Stephen Strange asks, leaning forwards. Loki is looking between him and Tony. He looks calm, but a hundred dollars says he’s ready to bolt.

“Thanos is coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism is welcomed and appreciated.


End file.
